


Hell To Pay

by dee_ayy



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mama - Freeform, Season 2 Episode 9 Mama, Sichabod, Sickabod, Sleepy Hollow Mama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dee_ayy/pseuds/dee_ayy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't drug a man from the 18th century and leave him alone. Fix for "Mama."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell To Pay

**Author's Note:**

> I NEVER do this. While I'll write episode tags and fill-ins until the end of time, I've always believed in the sanctity of canon, and would never rewrite what the show itself gives us. 
> 
> Until now. 
> 
> The fact that Nick Hawley drugged Crane without his knowledge (and that Abbie laughed about it) and then took his place in the story really annoyed me on many levels. So I rewrote it. This is what I think should have happened, and it would have fixed so many things: Hawley gets hell for what he did (and Abbie doesn't laugh), the drugged 18th-century guy isn't left alone and vulnerable, and Nick isn't inexplicably present on the Mills sisters' journey of discovery about their mama. Win win win.

HELL TO PAY

 By dee_ayy

 November 24, 2014

___________________________

 

“What did you put in his soup?”

 “You asked me to bring him something to help him sleep.”

 Abbie could feel the alarm rising in her chest. This was bad. Really really bad. “No, seriously, WHAT did you put in his soup?”

“Whoa, calm down!” Hawley answered defensively. “Had some Valium from when I hurt my back a while ago. Figured that would do the trick.” He glanced over at the now soundly-slumbering Ichabod. “Looks like it did,” he added proudly.

“A _muscle relaxant_?!?? Couldn’t be some Ambien or something; you had to give him a muscle relaxant? How much did you give him?”

Nick shrugged. “I dunno. Crushed maybe five, six pills in there. It’s a pretty big thing of soup, and he’s a big guy. What’s the big deal?”

Abbie walked over to Crane and studied him closely. He seemed to be just sleeping. For now.

“The big deal,” she answered as she returned to Hawley, “is that Crane. . . ,” how the hell was she going to explain this? “Crane’s metabolism is . . . it’s _different_. A pill that’s perfectly safe for you or me could have disastrous effects on him; no way of knowing. And _six_ of them? Geez, Hawley. You have no idea what you’ve done here.”

“Hey, there’s still more than half the soup in that container.”

He was right. Abbie ran over and grabbed it away from Crane’s side, lest he wake up and decide to have some more. “Okay, so _three_ pills. Still. Three pills would knock anyone for a loop, are you kidding me?”

She was pacing, trying to decide what to do. She had to get back to Tarrytown, but she absolutely could not leave Crane alone in his current condition. She looked up and Hawley was watching her, with a look that was some weird combination of chagrin, alarm, and . . . bemusement? He was infuriating.

But he’d do.

“You want to chip in, you say?”

He nodded.

“Okay, then, here’s how you’re going to help me. You’re going to stay here, and watch him. Make sure . . . I dunno, make sure he keeps _breathing_.”

Nick stood in protest. “You have got to be kidding me! He’s fine! He’ll sleep it off, just like anyone else!”

Abbie shook her head vigorously. “No, Hawley. He’s not _like_ anyone else. That’s what I’m telling you.”

“So tell me. Tell me what makes Ichabod Crane so damned different, besides the high-falutin’ accent, the weird clothes, and the superior attitude. Because I’ve seen plenty of that stuff in my day.”

Abbie paused. She couldn’t tell him; wouldn’t tell him. “That’s none of your business, and not up to me to tell you, anyway. Ask him if you want to know. He’s just different. I shouldn’t even be telling you _this_ much, but you haven’t left me any other choice.”

“I am NOT going to sit here all day and watch while Shakespeare over there snoozes.”

Abbie nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. It’s either that or I call an ambulance and have him transported to the hospital, where I tell them exactly what you did. Your choice.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. I’m not kidding, Nick. He can’t be left alone. I thought you’d bring some damned Nyquil, not slip him a mickey!”

Hawley studied her face for a long moment before reaching the conclusion that she wasn’t kidding.

“Looks like I’m babysitting,” he decided aloud.

 

_The First Hour_

Hawley took the opportunity to poke around the vast archive room. Fact was, he loved books; loved history; loved to read. He could spend a month in this place and not be bored, he figured.

So many of the texts were about the supernatural, the mystical, the unknown. Abbie wasn’t kidding when she told him a while back that this fight had been going on for a long time.

Crane was making a slight whistling/wheezing noise as he breathed.

 

_The Second Hour_

Nick was reading a compendium of witches (why not?) when he realized he wasn’t hearing it any more. The whistling breath noise; he wasn’t hearing it.

Dropping the book from his lap, the bounty hunter raced over to his charge, getting right in Crane’s face, just to be sure.

But he wasn’t sure. With Ichabod sleeping with his arms crossed on his chest, and his chin resting there, too, Hawley honestly couldn’t be entirely sure.

So Nick did the only thing he could. He shook the guy. “Yo! Crane! Wake up!”

Ichabod shifted slightly and groaned.

Hawley sighed with relief and went back to his book.

 

_The Third Hour_

Nick stood over Crane, studying him. He had to be uncomfortable, with his lanky form folded in that small chair. And he was going to be a mass of kinks and knots when he woke up, too.

Why did he care?

Didn’t, really. But the guy _was_ sick.

Hawley dragged the other red chair over to face the one Ichabod slept in. He picked up one of Crane’s legs, pausing when the movement caused the ill man to gasp. But he didn’t wake, so Nick deposited it on the chair, and repeated the move with the other one, allowing the sleeping man to recline. Somewhat.

Nick stood back and admired his handiwork. He saw something on the other seats against the wall and went over and grabbed it, spreading the red blanket over the sleeping man.

He wasn’t completely heartless.

 

_The Fourth Hour_

Nicholas Hawley was bored out of his mind.

 

_The Fifth Hour_

Crane was restless. Mumbling. Was he dreaming? Hawley got closer, trying to decipher what the man was saying. Maybe it would give him some insight into what this guy’s deal was.

No luck. He was mumbling in some foreign language. German, he thought. Dutch, maybe?

Okay, so he’s multilingual. But that’s not a surprise. He’d have been surprised if Crane wasn’t, actually.

Why did he insist on dressing like that?

That thought popped into Hawley’s head, not for the first time, and Nick reached the same conclusion he did every time.

He didn’t care.

 

_The Sixth Hour_

He must have dozed off himself, as the sound of a ringing phone roused him. Nick instinctively scrabbled for his own phone, but wasn’t able to put his hands on it before he heard Crane’s voice. His phone, obviously.

“Leftenant? Are you all right?”

“I am most relieved to hear that. And Miss Jenny? How is she?”

Hawley was hanging on every word, trying to piece together Abbie’s side of the conversation. He was relieved to hear that apparently things had gone well. But after that bit of information, Crane was giving him nothing but a series of “Hmmm’s” and “I see’s.”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Mills, I believe I am feeling somewhat better.”

Nick watched Ichabod look up, and find him in the room, apparently for the first time. His eyebrows climbing up his forehead in surprise at the sight of the blond man made that much clear.

“Yes, leftenant, he is here. Do you wish to speak to him?” Hawley started to rise, anticipating her answer.

Until Crane shook his head at him; apparently she did not.

“I see,” the Englishman said into his phone. “That is most interesting. Good to know.”

Another series of exasperating “Uh huh’s” and “Alright’s” followed.

“I will collect the items and be there as soon as I possibly can. And the privateer?” Hawley did not miss the suspicious look Crane gave him as he said it.

“Very well,” Crane said. “Goodbye, Miss Mills. I will see you soon.”

Hawley was on his feet as soon as Crane disconnected the call. Ichabod disentangled himself from the blanket and also rose.

“You have been here these,” Crane looked at the time on his phone, “six hours?”

“Well, yeah. That partner of yours. She doesn’t mess around. She tells you to do something, you do it.”

Crane chuckled. “Indeed.”

“Still don’t understand why you couldn’t be left alone.”

“Yes, Miss Mills explained to me why she felt that was important. I am most fortunate to have her so watchful of my wellbeing.”

“So you wanna tell me what that deal is? What’s so different about you?”

Crane took a long appraising look at Hawley. “Some day, Mr. Hawley, perhaps you will earn the right to learn of my rather unique circumstance. But based on your recent actions, it should come as no surprise that today is not that day.”

 Nick chuckled. “Fair enough, fair enough. You do look and sound better, though.”

 “And I need not explain to you why that is, as you say, beside the point.”

Crane pulled the scarf from around his neck. “We have no time to discuss my health further, but I reserve the right to address your unconscionable actions at a later time. Miss Mills has asked me to collect some items and meet her and Miss Jenny at Tarrytown, post haste.” Crane was halfway to the door before he added, “and for some unfathomable reason she indicated that you can come, too, if you would like.”

 Hawley rubbed his hands together. “I’m in. What do we need?”

 THE END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell, I don't dislike Nick Hawley. There's a decent guy in there just trying to get out--and I guess in my mind, he lets that guy out when no one is looking. 
> 
> That said, I have a feeling that he's going to be a casualty of this war.


End file.
